


Maraas-lok

by thewightknight



Series: Reconcilable Differences [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Betting, Drinking, Drinking Games, F/M, maraas-lok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric never did get around to setting up a drinking competition between Zaryn and the Iron Bull, but he didn’t have to.  They got around to it all by themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maraas-lok

Varric never did get around to setting up a drinking competition between Zaryn and the Iron Bull, but he didn’t have to. They got around to it all by themselves.

Bull had come back from Crestwood flush with excitement after they’d killed that dragon, that Northern Stalker, or whatever Cassandra had called it. That same afternoon, when Zaryn dropped by the tavern, he beckoned her over. 

He’d pulled out a skin of something, poured it into two tankards. 

“To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!” 

They clinked tankards. Whatever the stuff was, it made Zaryn cough when she took a drink. Considering all the swill he’d seen her chug with no reaction, Varric decided he didn’t want to know what went into the making of maraas-lok.

He made the first bet with Rocky.

“Five gold says she’s still standing when he passes out.”

Rocky gave him a look of sheer incredulity. “Hadn’t pegged you for that much of a fool,” and shook on it.

Rocky must have said something, because shortly afterwards Krem pulled a chair up.

“You don’t really think short stuff’s gonna outdrink the Chief, do you?”

“What can I say? I root for the little guy.”

Krem snorted. “I’ll take some of that action.”

After the first swallow, Zaryn didn’t cough again, or show any other reaction except a bit of color in her cheeks. They finished their first tankards and Bull poured again. A crowd started to form in the corner under the stairs. They kept quiet, murmuring among themselves, not wanting to disturb the spectacle. Varric had to pull out some parchment to start keeping track of the betting. When Blackwall ambled in, he waved him over, not wanting the proceedings disrupted.

“What are you up to now, Varric?” Blackwall asked, shaking his head. 

By the end of the third tankard, Bull was swaying on his stool and Zaryn’s cheeks were bright red. Zaryn had almost finished her fourth, and Bull was only halfway through his when he fell forward, splayed across the table. Zaryn poked him, and he grunted, eye opening briefly, then subsided. His snores were drowned out by the groans, and as they filed out, the losers slapped coins down on the table in front of Varric. 

As they watched, Zaryn emptied the remainder of Bull’s tankard into hers. She slid off the stool, her movements stiff and precise as she walked towards them. Instead of pulling up a chair for herself, she sat instead in Blackwall’s lap, leaning in to his chest as he wrapped an arm around her waist. As she raised the tankard up to take another drink, he leaned back, waving his hand in front of his face.

“Holy Maker, what is that?” 

“Qunari liquor. ’S great stuff. Sure you don’t wanna try?”

“Andraste spare me. The fumes alone are making my head spin,” Blackwall said, and Varric laughed.

“That’s our Inquisitor alright. There’s no alcohol in Thedas she can’t conquer.”

Zaryn nodded in agreement and then belched. When Blackwall swore again, she giggled.

“Maybe **I** should sleep in the stables tonight?” she said.

“Can you make it that far, lass?” Blackwall asked, and she drew herself up to her full height in mock affront.

“I’ll have you know, serah, that I am completely in control!” she declared, wildly waving the arm that held the tankard. As Varric watched, he noticed that again, she didn’t spill a drop. This was a dwarf that took her drink seriously.

“Of course you are, dear. So, your quarters or mine?”

She frowned, raised the tankard to take another drink. As she leaned her head back to catch the last few swallows she started to topple backwards, held upright only by Blackwall’s arm. She overcompensated, leaning forward too far and catching herself on the table. For the first time she noticed the pile of coin in front of Varric.

“Hey, I’m’a get a cut of that, right?” she demanded, a slur apparent in her voice for the first time.

“Sure thing, Tipsy.”

“Tipsy?” She tried for outrage again and nearly fell out of Blackwall’s lap.

“Alright, love. Time to go.”

“M’kay. My quarters. Stairs have railings.” She slid out of Blackwall’s lap. Her legs didn’t buckle, miracle of miracles. She gave a half-hearted protest when Blackwall took the tankard out of her hand and placed it on the table, but let him steer her towards the door.

“Don’t ferget my cut, Varric!” she called out as they left, and he waved at her in reassurance.

After they left, he couldn’t help but reminisce, just for a moment, about another drink-filled night. He picked up her discarded tankard, which still had a swallow or two at the bottom. He thought about finishing it off, but before he'd gotten it anywhere close to his lips the fumes started making his eyes water, and he set it back down again, pushing it as far away from him as he could.

The barmaids managed to wake Bull up enough and with Krem’s and Rocky’s help get him up to his room sometime after dawn, he found out the next day. 

Zaryn was up at her usual early hour, not looking worse for wear in the slightest. 

_Damnit_ , Varric thought. _I should have made hangover bets too_.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's [Zaryn](http://thewightknight.tumblr.com/post/130996764738/cute-little-carta-fixer-when-she-stops-smiling)
> 
> Feel free to come say hi over on [tumblr](http://thewightknight.tumblr.com/).


End file.
